Beginnings
by L.M. Avalon
Summary: Before every game is a story... Each chapter is a short account of what a main character was doing just before the opening scene of their game. Not in any specific order, Claire's RE2 up.
1. Claire, Code: Veronica

These aren't in any sort of order, just posted as I write them. There are no pairings (though some might be subtly hinted at) and no Mary-Sues. Each drabble takes place hours, minutes, and seconds before the very beginning of a _Resident Evil_ game.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Resident Evil_.

* * *

_Before Veronica_

* * *

Claire combed her fingers through her auburn hair before pulling it all up in a loose ponytail. After she secured the hair with an elastic band, the younger Redfield tucked the remaining strands behind her ears. Eyeing her reflection in the mirror with a slight frown, she tried to cast what she was about to do from her troubled mind.

Tugging her protective finger-less gloves on her hands, she patted her jeans' pockets for the fifth time that evening. Yes, she had her brother's lighter. Yes, she still had the slip of paper with Leon's email address scrawled across it in his tidy, cramped handwriting. Both reassured her. Knowing that she had something from both her brother and a friend made her feel as if they were almost with her, watching her back.

Once night fell, she'd be making her way out of the Parisian hotel room (rented under an alias, of course) and to the nearby Umbrella Inc. European Headquarters.

"Chris, you better be there," Claire muttered angrily to the empty room. She was risking her neck getting into this facility. This time, she was alone and breaking into a place full of living, armed guards just to get some information. "I don't know whether I'll hug him or hit him when I see him." It was always 'when' and never 'if.' _When _she found Chris. _When _they reunited. _When _she chewed him out for trying to 'protect' her by not contacting her for months.

After zipping up her leather boots and pulling the legs of her jeans over them, she finally glanced out the window. The sun was just dipping below the horizon. The sky around it was a splatter of colors. To Claire, it looked like blood smeared against a dying sky.

* * *

Claire hunched over the front of the computer, her shoulders slumping down in a desperate wish to stay undiscovered. The harsh glow from the monitor highlighted the crevices in her face, throwing the hollows of her cheeks and eye sockets into shadow. The fluorescent lights that normally lit this particular computer room were off, and the door—which was supposed to be locked—was slightly ajar.

The more she shifted through the virtual files, the more unsettled Claire became. Of course they wouldn't leave evidence of the horrible things they'd done on just any computer, but the things that they _did _feel comfortable allowing easy access to made her uneasy. A list of dead employees and the loss of money to the company that the deaths had caused was the first thing she found.

_Heartless bastards…_

Deeper in cyberspace, Claire finally found mention of her older brother. It was a file on Chris Redfield, tracking his location for more than a year—since well before the Spencer Mansion incident. It seemed like they had followed him everywhere, always had him under surveillance. But the oddest thing was that even _their_ information stopped in September. It was as though he'd literally vanished, dropped off the edge of the earth. He'd been seen last in Paris, the same city that Claire walked the streets of now.

She backtracked and found more files with names she recognized. _Chambers, Rebecca_… a young medic that had worked with her brother back in the doomed Raccoon City. _Valentine, Jill_… a pretty brunette that Chris had introduced his sister to in May, just after the carnivorous murders first began._ Burton, Barry_… an old friend of the family that had been the one to convince Chris to join S.T.A.R.S. in the first place. Even further down, she found _Birkin, Sherry_ and, to her immense surprise, a file for _Redfield_, _Claire_. A chord was struck deep within her, invoking a sense of pride. They knew she knew. They were even kind enough to consider her a threat worth keeping an eye on.

A small smirk lit up her blue-gray eyes.

The other names would definitely come in handy when she needed allies. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_, she chanted in her head in a gleeful, sing-song voice. Before she could find somewhere to write down the list, however, the door slammed open with a resounding _clang_.

"Dans ici!" a harsh voice yelled as a guard waved his gun and flashlight to motion his buddies into the room. "Tuez-la!"

Claire had paid sufficient enough attention in high school French to get the gist of it—she was screwed. They filtered in, and she had just enough time to count half a dozen men before a hailstorm of bullets flew her way. Metal rattled the wood as she ducked with one arm over her head in protection, a reflex. She dove off the chair and behind the nearest desk, holding her weapon to her chest and already breathing hard.

"Ah, crap," she grumbled, flipping her safety off. One careless shooter had caused the glass of the computer she had been using to shatter and the plastic around it to splinter. Sparks danced up from the smoldering monitor. Despite being caught off guard and a straight shot from the door, no one had managed to hit her. "Must be new recruits…" Kind of like Leon. Reaching around the corner blindly, she fired a few shots in the direction of the agitated voices. A thud and a curse made her smile.

At least she hit one.

Claire crawled to the farthest edge of her makeshift shield before tucking and rolling to the next desk over. Bullets thudded into the ground just inches behind her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, fighting off all fear and panic. This was her element. She shoved the desk with her shoulder, causing a cup to fall off the corner and shatter on the ground. The guards expectantly aimed their high-powered rifles in that direction. Leaning around the other side, Claire let off a few well-aimed shots, hitting an unsuspecting guard in the hand and another in the kneecap. Both dropped their guns in either anguish or surprise. Three were defenseless.

An alarm was ringing in her eardrums now. Claire imagined the pounding footsteps of back-up forces, but no one else crashed their little party. Lunging toward a filing cabinet, she fired a few more times mid-flight. The rest of the guards dropped, clumsily, to the ground. She heard the groans of the injured and then scuffling as the rest attended to the situation as best as they could.

Up until this moment in time, Claire had never shot a living, breathing thing. Moving dead things, yes. Monsters, yes. But mortal men? No.

Shoving her guilt aside, Claire raced for the second door in the room, heart pounding, waiting, just waiting for one of the crippled men to get revenge. The man she had disarmed first managed to pick up a weapon and fire off several shots at her. Goosebumps dotted her neck as the bullets skimmed by her dancing ponytail.

Quickly, she threw herself against the cement door and flung it behind her if only to keep the gunmen at bay for a few seconds. Creeping around a darkened corner, Claire slammed a new magazine into her handgun, her eyes narrowed vigilantly.

Two more men rounded the bend up ahead, forcing her to change direction and start down the hall the other way at a run. They followed her closely in the windowed corridor, close on her heels.

The constant thrum of a helicopter's rotary propellers echoed from wall to wall, but Claire couldn't pinpoint where exactly the noise was coming from. A large window loomed up ahead, but she kept charging directly at it…


	2. Jill, RE3

_Disclaimer__: I do not own __Resident Evil__._

* * *

_Before Nemesis_

* * *

"Where are you?" Jill asked, cradling the phone against her ear. A strand of golden brown hair swung lightly down and rested before one eye, but she swept it away impatiently.

"I —an't tell you that."

If she was honest with herself, she'd admit that that answer had hurt, like something heavy had settled next to her heart and bruised the vital organ in the process. It was probably the worst response he could have given her. Jill would have been content even if he had named an obviously dangerous location. She liked knowing where all the pieces in play were—it provided a sense of control. Yet to not even have enough faith in her to tell her anything at all?

"It's not—I don't trust you," Chris said softly, reassuringly, his normally gruff voice crackling over the line and answering her unspoken question. Pieces of his side of the conversation were missing due to the poor reception of wherever he was. "I—risk your line being tapped. —trace the call."

She felt a little better. Of course that was why her old partner wouldn't tell her where he was calling from. She was just being suspicious and impractical to judge him so quickly. Her nerves were strained almost to the breaking point lately. Jumping to conclusions was becoming increasingly more deadly to do, she had to remind herself.

A dry chuckle forced its way past Jill's throat. The hollow sound grated her ears. "Chris, I sincerely doubt Umbrella's listening to my phone calls right now. I—the city's a mess." As if to prove her point, a horrible, throaty scream echoed up from the alley beside her apartment. She shot a look out the murky window but couldn't find the resolve needed to force herself to get up off the edge of her bed to see if she could spot the victim.

"I know. You—get going. I want you out of there before it gets too bad." Ah, was that the classic Redfield (over-)protectiveness she heard in his tone? Some things would never change… But it was comforting this time rather than irritating.

"I'm leaving as soon I hang up with you. The last I checked, there were still some survivors sticking it out. I'll save anyone I can, but the city's worse off than you probably think, Chris. We need a rendezvous point. Where—?" A dry click cut her off between words. "Chris? Chris! _Fuck_!"

Jill slammed her phone back into its cradle, the corners of her mouth twisted down in utter disgust. Finally, even her private, secure line had died. Phones had been inoperative all over the city for at least two days; she was lucky she had gotten an outside signal as long as she had. Its death couldn't have been more ill-timed. She needed at least some clue, so she could hunt down Redfield once she escaped this hellhole.

She stood up, finally glancing out the window as she did so. She couldn't wait any longer. The destruction of the city weighed heavily on her shoulders, as though it was entirely her fault. That morning alone, the living had been cut down by half according to her estimations.

_It's their fault_, her mind argued defensively. _We warned them, but they refused to listen_. But no matter how many times she reminded herself of that, she couldn't force the thought that most of those now among the undead had been…

Well, innocent.

Another regret tormented her, though this one was much less serious. A couple of days ago, when the city had been remarkably decent and the government hadn't put up the barricade yet, she'd sent all her clothes and household items out of the city and to one of her safe houses. Now all she had left was a skimpy outfit that would make escaping more of a challenge than it would have been otherwise. Why hadn't she thought ahead of time and kept at least one practical piece of clothing in her apartment?

Too late for that now—there was nothing she could do about it. Grabbing her police-issued handgun and what ammo she had stashed beforehand, Jill crept toward her barricaded front door, holding the berretta before her with two hands, another keepsake she'd picked up from the police before she'd quit S.T.A.R.S.

A small tremor ran down her spine as she undid the deadbolt and padlock. She'd always been one for working alone, but in times like these… Oh, how she missed those fallen S.T.A.R.S. But it had been her choice to stay in Raccoon City to monitor Umbrella's actions, and it was up to her to save anyone left. It was her duty.

Taking a deep breath, Jill kicked her own door open and charged into the hallway, picking off anything that confronted her with a coldness that was required in her line of work. Something twisted and rotten rounded the corner, and Jill planted the heel of her heavy boot into its forehead, causing the decomposing head to snap back. Pressing the muzzle of the handgun into the soft skin of the undead, she pulled the trigger and barely flinched as gore splattered the already disgusting wall.

This was her last escape. From the city and from anything else Umbrella felt they could do to destroy her resolve to bring them down.

"Let's get this over with," she murmured as she slammed an elbow into the half-gone torso of another monster that appeared at the bottom of the staircase. The once-human connected with the wall with a crack and slid down, leaving a thick smear of coagulated blood in its wake.

Moving forward, something tickled her senses, and Jill glanced around for anything obvious to be the cause of it. It wasn't something that looked wrong, but rather something that _sounded_ wrong. But with the cries of the dying heavy in the air, it took the ex-S.T.A.R.S. some time to pick out the particular thing she was listening for. It was steady and too human to be a part of the chaos that had encompassed the city. Ticking. "Oh, sh—!"

Jill was hurled out the lobby door, skidding on her side in the carnage-strewn street. Tendrils of fire reached out after her, but she escaped untouched by the flames. Moans of the undead rang in her ears as she struggled to her feet, cursing the fact that Umbrella had tried to kill her one last time with a just-in-case bomb in her own home. The brunette smirked. Didn't they know she was the explosives expert?


	3. Claire, RE2

It's been awhile, but I'd never really planned on this being a regularly updated story. This time, I bring you Claire Redfield before she was introduced to us in Resident Evil 2. Unfortunately, there's not really any action in this, just a lot of reflection.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil_.

* * *

_Before Raccoon City_

* * *

Claire Redfield yanked her left boot on so hard that, in a way, it almost appeared as if she was trying to shorten her own leg by sheer force. The foot settled on the floor next to its partner briefly before both propelled their owner across the room.

For a few minutes, she hovered in front of the dusty, floor-length mirror shoved up in the corner of her dorm room. Only half paying attention, she twisted this way and that to check her reflection from several angles. It wasn't that she was vain or even that this trip required her to look "good" in any sense of the word. Claire had finally snapped. She was leaving as soon as she could despite the fact that she had a lecture across campus in eighteen minutes. Mostly, she wanted to make sure she hadn't forgotten any articles of clothing when she had dressed so hastily.

But no, her ass was covered. (Literally.)

To some of her classmates (read: most of them), her outfit would probably look quirky or out of place. Her fellow Midwesterners took their fashion cues from TV shows, magazines, and window displays at the local mall. Tonight, Claire was dressing for practicality, not trend, in her bicycle shorts, cut-offs, shirt, and vest. Everything was well-worn and broken-in, meaning comfort on her long ride to Raccoon City. Plus, if she got overheated, she could peel off a layer and still remain decent. Despite the fact that it was mid-September, it had been almost unbearably warm all week.

Her rash decision to finally take off, to leave_ so late in the afternoon_, meant she wouldn't make it until nightfall.

Chris…

Claire shook her head angrily, glaring at her own face in the mirror. Quickly, she picked out the resemblance she shared with her wayward brother: their mother's eyes, their father's set, determined jaw…

And _goddamn it, __Chris_!

They had always shared everything, even if it pissed off or worried one or both of them. The Redfield siblings knew they could always lean on one another in a time of crisis. After their mom and dad had died, all they had left was each other.

When, months back, Chris's weekly calls had turned vague, Claire had been angry but understanding. After all, within a week, she had seen coverage on the local news station about the terrible disaster that had happened in the Arklay Mountains, including the tragic, almost mysterious deaths of most of the S.T.A.R.S. She'd also watched the story devoted to a TV psychologist's analysis of the survivors' possible PTSD. Finally, when the remaining officers' badges had been suspended, Claire had been sympathetic.

But Chris refused to explain anything, only bothering to deny everything and promise to talk about it all later.

That unspecified "later" always set off Claire's temper, which in turn sparked Chris's, and the call would more often than not end in a patented Redfield shouting match.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then, the second week of September, his weekly call never came. At first, Claire was angry. Then she was worried, which just made her angrier at the fact that Chris had done something to worry her. It was an imperfect thought process, but Claire had always had the problem of feeding her anger until it was out of control. She stewed over this for an entire week.

And today, the second week in a row…

Mostly, Claire wanted to give her brother a good kicking around to remind him of what a good sister he had been blessed with. Mostly, Claire wanted to confirm the fact that Chris was still around to give a good kicking around to. Mostly, she had just snapped.

Claire snatched her wallet and keys off the table by the front door, making sure to lock the dorm up behind her. As she made her way to the campus parking garage, she didn't give a second thought to what she had left behind: pictures of her family, an entire wardrobe of clothing, and the cute boy who had been sending her flirty looks from two rows ahead in Anatomy lately.

Within a month, her dorm will be ransacked by Umbrella employees and her friends would stop worrying about where she had disappeared to and start worrying about other things. Within a year, she will have completely forgotten what she'd even brought with her to college in the first place. Within ten years, she will have stopped thinking about _what could have been_.

In the garage, Claire swung her leg easily over her motorcycle and settled into the seat. When she pulled the helmet over her head, the familiar weight felt good despite the uncomfortable feeling of her mahogany ponytail digging into the back of her skull, because that was familiar, too. Once on the road, the endless miles stretching in front of her lulled her into a peaceful mood, since once in Raccoon City, everything would be fine again.

The scenery rushed past on either side, alternating between small towns and vast nothingness with a cow or abandoned silo every few miles. The light faded. The sun had barely set when she reached the mile marker and sign just on the outskirts of the city, and almost on cue, her stomach rumbled when a diner came into sight.

The younger Redfield pulled to a stop and braced her feet on either side of the top-heavy vehicle. As she removed her helmet, Claire could feel the light breeze ruffle her hair almost playfully.

"Ah," she sighed, grateful to be somewhere her questions could be answered and her worries settled. "I'm finally here."


End file.
